Today Leslie and I had two of the last cups of Ethiopia Sidamo Koratie that Doubleshot will brew for a very long time (possibly ever). What a way to go out. It was the most perfect cup I have had in quite some time. Before he poured it, Garth described it as "buttery", and I could see what he meant. The mouthfeel was delicious, so chewy and viscous. The usual Sidamo richness was there, but this time I would swear that it tasted like Earl Grey. How could it get any better than my two favorite hot beverages melded together?
I always get sad when Doubleshot stops roasting a particularly good bean. When they stopped the Tanzania Ruvuma (still the best coffee I have ever had), it was a terrible day. Or the Sidamo MAO Horse, which tasted exactly like blueberries. I change very slowly, and take great comfort in familiar things. Because of this, losing a coffee is a bit like saying goodbye to a dear friend.
One of my favorite ideas in Lewis' Space Trilogy comes in Perelandra, when it comes out that, on Venus where no fall has happened, no creature wants anything out of season. That is to say, no one wishes for more of something when it is gone, or wants something outside of its limitations. What a beautiful image of what our lives should be. Accepting things as they come to us; enjoying them while they last, and letting them go when their time is over.
Friendship is like that. We so desperately want our friendships with people to stay exactly as they have always been; we tremble at the thought of undergoing any alteration. Yet change comes to us all; bodies move, or worse, souls drift apart. Though it is right to mourn the loss of these things, it is sin to keep longing after them when gone. What is more, it is only blindness which gives us these thoughts. We grasp to what has come before, not knowing that what comes next will be just as glorious, in its own way.
It is the terrible tension of our fallen state to want things we cannot have. We are torn apart from those we love without the capacity to deal with the separation. The state which would give us freedom to accept this comes only in glory. People often imagine heaven as one continuous togetherness with loved ones. This strikes me as a misunderstanding. In actuality "heaven" will be a physical reality on the new earth, with life restored to its original balance. We will work and see the fruits of our labor unfrustrated! Perhaps then, "heaven" does not entail never being apart from those we love, but being able to know that it is good to be with friends, and good to be apart from them. That we can find a sweet satisfaction in the moments we share with one another without wishing to prolong them forever.
It is like this with coffee, too. In some ways it is better that Sidamo Koratie go away, in order that new coffees might be roasted, might present their striking flavors to my tongue. It would be a sin for me to only want Sidamo Koratie for the rest of my life. Not merely a sin, but stupidity! Who knows what wonders I would miss out on, clutching at my cup of overworn Ethiopia? It is better this way. As I sucked the last life breath from the cup and threw it in the trash, I was content. What more is needed?
Thursday, March 12, 2009
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4 comments:
For a very long time, my faith was really dependent on other people. In a way, I guess it still is. When people would fail (in no ways that are particularly surprising to me now), I would immediately fall into questioning as to whether God even exists.
It was also very hard to say goodbye to people I needed in that capacity. I think that God has taught me much of what you're talking about by moving my family around so much when I was a child - dropping friendships and having to forge new ones has always been a distinct reality for me.
It's not even so much about seeing people in heaven or not seeing them for me; I find my solace in the knowledge that there will be no disappointment there.
t's strange how, even when we manage to hold on to things, they end up feeling all wrong, like "overworn" coffee. Why do you think we shake our heads at the idea of a 40-year-old man living in his parents' basement? He holds on to boyhood long after boyhood has passed. It just doesn't feel right. I remember a children's cartoon showing what it would be like if Christmas came every day. Naturally, the kids involved were excited at first, but they grew tired of it pretty quickly.
Humans don't have the capacity to make things last, at least in a way which maintains their value. That's why, for example, Disney-esque ideas of eternal love don't sit well with me. Even when they're rotting in the ground? Somehow, I don't think Disney has an answer for that.
Thankfully, you're right. And, when you think about it, we'll have all the time in the world. It's inevitable that even long-separated friends bump into each other again.
Sometimes I wonder if it will be possible to meet famous dead Christians. Do you think C.S. Lewis will have lines of fans waiting for interviews? ;)
What do you think of the Monsooned Malabar?
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